


Ah, the Arishok

by itsonlyadream8



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Foolishness, Not a Drunk Sex Trope Fic Though, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsonlyadream8/pseuds/itsonlyadream8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is intoxicated and who better to bother than the mighty Arishok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Options

**Author's Note:**

> So. This is after Hawke gets to know the Arishok a little better. And the Arishok may or may not have a little thing for Hawke ;).  
> P.S. If you've already read through I've changed and added a few things (as of 11-12-13) - small things but they're there. And I fixed some typos and grammar mistakes- apologies for my 'blunders' :).

“Hawke, where are you going?” called a happily drunken Fenris from the stairwell of ‘his’ mansion, the words slurring into an incoherent babbling only a person just as drunk would understand.

Hawke paused at the base of one staircase and spun around way too quickly for her current state. The large room spinned and blurred around the edges, becoming a bit tilted as she soon realized it was her head that was doing the tilting. She straightened up and hazily place one hip on the handrails, crossed her arms and looked back up to Fenris who was doing his best not to fall over the handrails onto the hard marble floor below. “I… Fenris?” She thought she heard him mumble in response and continued, “Tell me I’m pretty.” She barked out a laugh.

“My dear,” he was interrupted by a hiccup, “you are beautiful. Come back… join me, my pretty little bird- hawk,” another hiccup, “It’s so lonely in this mansion- have I ever told you that?” The one good thing about seeing Fenris this way, drunk and way too friendly, was that his lyrium tattoos echoed his pulse- a gentle blue emitting from his skin every time his heart would beat.

But this time all she could see when she looked up was an oblong blue orb-thing speaking from the top floor. _Curious_ , she thought to herself. How many bottles of wine had she downed that night? Two? No, Four. Wait. Three-and-a-half? She noticed herself leaning backwards too late as she flailed her arms in a vain attempt to find the handrails finding only the cold hard floor with her tailbone. When she was able to find her feet again she slowly and clumsily stood. When she was upright her body let her senses concentrate on more than removing herself from the ground, and she heard laughing- no guffawing. Cacophonous laughter was coming from that blue orb and she decided it wasn’t as nice as she had thought it was.

When Hawke finally made her wobbly way to the front door the laughter subsided into giggling and she started giggling herself, how stupid she must have looked flailing her arms like a chicken trying to fly. She sighed and shut the heavy door behind herself and began to adjust her weapons- wait, where were her weapons? Oh. They were beside Fenris’s door, just on the other side, but she had somehow locked the door behind herself. She knocked for a few long moments before finally putting her ear to the door and after a few seconds she heard singing- in a different language and maybe a chair falling over- maybe Fenris did choreograph dance routines in his spare time.

Where was she going? Home was… there… she thought. But there was no one to spite there. Hawke always loved pestering people when she was heavily intoxicated to see how far they’d let her push them, after all she could always blame it on the alcohol later- if she remembered. But that just made the bits she did remember all the more enjoyable… and valuable she thought hazily.

She began considering her options. Varric? No far too tolerable to drunkards- as was Isabela. Anders? No she’d have to count on his icy little fingers to quell the impending hangover, best not to irritate him. Sebastian? She guffawed at the thought- her wobbling into the Chantry, Sebastian rushing to her aid _“Hawke!”_ he would exclaim, _“What’s happened?”_

 _“_ You’re voice… is so pretty… it seems to have melted me _.”_ She responded out loud to the lonely dusk time Hightown. Lonely! Fenris! She paused in an attempt to find her bearings and the best way to his ‘rightfully stolen’ mansion. She paused letting her surroundings fade in order to concentrate fully on the elusive string of thoughts forming in her head. Wait… she was just at his side, it was his wine that got her here, yes? Her surroundings came slowly back into focus once more and she turned and placed two hands on the door behind her. _Ah_ , she thought, _still here._  She had no one, she quickly derived. A devilish smirk crawled its way onto her face. No one she knew.

So, who better to aggravate than the short-tempered, eight foot tall, four-horned, ash-skinned, snow-haired, warpaint-streaked, battle-axe-toting warlord who could snap her in half with a flick of his wrist. She sighed contently, clearly at peace with her decision- poor little voice, drowning in finely-aged wine. Not the worst death one could wish on their subconscious. The docks it is then. She turned left, walked a few paces, hiccupped then turned around, spying the exit to the courtyard- maybe ‘ _spying_ ’ isn’t the correct word- ‘ _stumbled fortuitously in the right direction_ ’ being far more accurate. Perhaps the Arishok would even crack a smile at ‘the one person of worth in the cesspool that is Kirkwall’ stumbling into the Qunari compound with smug mask on her clearly half-there face. _Ah, the Arishok_.

So it was thought and so it shall be done… with drunk determination. She giggled _so_ he _shall be done_. She almost punched herself for the thought… though she could always blame her failing temptress ways on the obvious intoxication she was suffering from. Though the truth is he would be the only one suffering, but for how long would he allow it? “Those horns,” She thought aloud “I’ll be damned if I don’t touch them before the night’s through.”


	2. Sand Art

She had been verbally bouting the gate's single, cross-armed guardian for a good five minutes, being constantly cut off in the process with the same sentence, “The Arishok will see no one at this hour, Serah Hawke.” His last two words dripping with malice and irritation.

“But you see I am not just anyone, my dear, hellishly masculine friend.” She waved her arms with great infatuation and hiccupped as a thought occurred to her “Ooh.” She said in a slurred pathetically seductive tone, she paused somewhat thoughtfully bringing her index finger to her chin. “I will leave,” The Qunari sighed contently- too soon, “ _if_ ,” his postured slackened and he steeled himself for more drunken patter, “you let me touch your horns.” She smiled when the not-so-jolly gray giant froze.

He relaxed ever so slightly, “If you insist.” The Qunari stated and Hawke suddenly became giddy- too soon, she realized after he made no intention to move- aside from dropping his arms to his sides. She thought she saw the ghost of a smirk skirt cross his passive yet stern features, “I will rouse the Arishok.” All the anticipation yet only half the joy quickly drained from the drunken vessel that was harboring them. _Even qunari can be smug bastards_ she thought, _hoo-_ rah. “Though you alone will suffer his impatience.”

“Do you think it would help if I went and gathered wild herbs for tea? I was expecting cakes and crumpets and cute little crème filled pastries upon my visitation” she said with slurred sarcasm. The qunari sneered and groaned before turning to the gate and entering the compound. Hmph. _As a wise man once said: ‘Do not dish out what you cannot take back’. Okay Varric said that… in slightly fewer words…_ with a less ‘eloquent’ voice then the Orlesian one she had imagined up _._ She noticed once again the she was slowly tipping over, once again her bottom hit the ground- though it was somewhat softer- with a puff of dust. She heard footsteps approaching and realized she couldn’t get up in time without vomiting on her new boots. So, she spread her legs into a wide 'V' and began to draw circles in the sand between her legs, trying to look purposeful in her actions- adding conviction to her sand-art would make it much easier on the eyes.

“Hawke.” Came a booming, black-velvet voice from atop the stairs to the compound’s entrance. Obvious bewilderment and discontent in his voice. An implied ‘ _What the hell do you_ _want_ ’ was present as well.

“Arishok!” She spoke with false surprise and, of course the Arishok saw through it, waiting for her to explain what she was doing. After a moment of silence his body took on that of an angry and impatient mother- arms crossed and one hip barely protruding. He waited a few more moments and waved his hand in a horizontal arc in from of him. “Oh! I’m just… I was struck by the sudden onset want to draw lazy circles in sand and-“

“I care not to listen farther.” He glared at her pointedly and could tell that she was clearly intoxicated and possessed no weapons to defend herself should one leap on the opportunity to best the notorious basalit-an. “Follow.”

“You don’t even want to see the picture? I think it shows a likeness to you, my good sir.” The Arishok paused, turned back around and repeated himself in a much calmer but assertive tone, knowing that he would have to deal with her as if she were an insolent child. He noticed her attempts at getting up had resulted in multiple failures and a bout of laughter. He walked to her side and pulled her up with one arm, throwing her over his shoulder. “Ooh, the ground is so far away,” she mumbled with a hiccup sputtering at a few silver strands of hair that had blown across her face. “You smell pretty.”

He ignored her, “That ‘drawing’ looked nothing like me. It was merely scratches in the dirt.” He felt her vibrate with laughter on his shoulder and realized that he’d taken the bait. “Hmph.” He sat her down somewhere between gingerly and ‘ _I will rip you in half if you don’t answer my next few questions_ very _carefully’_ on a crate beside his makeshift throne, scooting it in front of him- but then he noticed the lengthy and bumpy fall she would take if she fell backwards down the set of stone stairs- a quite possible outcome. He scooped her back onto his shoulders, an appreciative ‘wheee!’ resonating from Hawke, he was suddenly grateful that she could not see him half-smiling at her idiocy. He kicked the crate next to the nearby wall and sat her on top of it, pulling another crate near and sitting across from her. They were at eye-level as Hawke’s feet were being let to dangle over the edge.

“Is that anyway to treat a guest?” She chided, crossing her arms. A few of his men were still at their normal posts, leaning against the walls and keeping watch over the harbor.

“It is an acceptable way to treat an _unwanted_ guest.” He shot back placing his elbows on his knees and interlocked fingers at his chin staring at her for a few silent moments.

“For a man who can strike the fear of the Maker into every man, woman, and child in Thedas, you have a rubbish posture.” He looked down bringing his forehead to his knuckles and sighing through his nose.

“Every man, woman, and child except for you it seems. Unfortunate.” Hawke poofed out her chest and straightened up as he raised his head.

“I am epecson- eshepun- except…iona…lly brave... and courageous. I have slain dragons, Ser Arishok… Wait,” a small flickering candle appeared amidst the haze in Hawke's brain, “that makes me the bravest person in Thedas! Ha!” The Arishok straightened when he saw his men shuffle their feet in annoyance, silently pleading for the Arishok’s permission to sew this basra’s mouth shut. He stood as she silenced and only the creaking of the relieved crate was heard. He nodded to his men _‘I am retiring for the night’_ A few nervous and pointed glances found him before he sighed and scooped Hawke up, not even bothering to throw her over his shoulder, rather bending her at the hip across his massive forearm. As they descended the stairs she spoke yet again.

“You are very warm, Ser Arishok.” He felt her cold fingers prod and trace his stomach and chest and narrowly avoided tripping over his own feet, being caught up in his observation of her activities, “What is this made of,” she had a few flakes of red warpaint on her fingers. He had a good mind to tell her that it was varterral venom and that it could and would eat through her at any moment and that she would die a slow agonizing death. “At least I will die happily drunk.” He thought he had spoken the words out loud and grunted a ‘what?’


	3. Smooth, Hawke

“If you’re taking me to slaughter, I mean. I knew you Qunari could be harsh, but I never thought you’d kill someone over the Arishok’s beauty sleep.” A growl left his throat, she gave her own version of reassurance, as if trying to talk her way out of certain death, “I mean it’s not like you need it, oh mighty warlord. You are th-” He threw her back over his shoulder grateful that the impact had caused the breath to leave her lungs, at least temporarily. After a while she finally strangled out an ‘Ow’ as he continued to take giants steps to a rather large tent.

 _This will be interesting_ , thought the Arishok as he lifted the hand that wasn’t occupied with holding down a squirming Hawke to open the flaps of the tent. He reassessed his actions and turned on his heels into the opposite direction. He pulled her off of his shoulder and stood her in front of him, placing a giant steadying hand on her shoulder, “You will behave. You will not speak unless spoken to. You _will not_ touch anything.” She stared at him a few moments with a cocked head and a furrowed brow and he could see suddenly rusty gears turning behind glassy eyes. _What is she thinking?_ He gave her a small shake and she nodded with a mischievous smirk and he knew he had just wasted his breath.

"Can I touch your horns?" He gave her a silent steady glare. _Cleary a 'No'._

 “Will you walk, Hawke?”

“Will you carry me?” she asked innocently.

“No.” he replied irritation and a trace amusement mingled in his voice.

“Well, I can’t fly,” She gave her arms a small flap, “Would you rather I wriggle like one of those tiny little earthworms?” Ah, yes sarcasm, “My brother, Carver? He used to have a jar of dirt filled wit- oomph!” She was swept up once again with a laugh. The ground was far away again, "Ooh! I can fly!" The Arishok grumbled and swept away canvas to reveal a rather homey atmosphere inside the tent.

There was a patterned rug in one corner neatly surrounded by pillows and cushions and a decent-sized bookshelf filled to the brink with meticulously organized thick books that sat against the tent canvas. There was what looked to be a fire pit with a grate on top, a few embers still glowing. A round table sat in the middle with a vase of incense in the center, a lit candle on either side. Two chairs sat across from each other and one had an open book, a few scattered papers an inkwell and a glass of deep purple liquid. A few garlands of herbs hung on the walls, creating a beautiful bouquet of fragrances.

An adequately pillowed fur-covered mattress on interlocking stacks of wooden planks was revealed when the Qunari swept back another partition. “Whose tent is this?”

“Mine.” He answered matter-of-factly and with a bit of pride.

“Then why are you so grumpy all the time?” He made an amused growl in his throat- she thought he was amused- though he was probably fuming.

“I am not ‘grumpy’ and you will not speak unless spoken to.” Yep, definitely fuming. He leaned forward and removed the hand that was holding her firmly in place, successfully tossing her onto the furry mattress. He straightened up “Where are your weapons, Serah Hawke?” She reached subconsciously for two runed axes she kept on her back before answering.

“I seemed to have... misplaced them.” She said with a pitiful tone as she slinked her hands back into her lap, her body jolting with a hiccup soon after.

“And you thought it wise to poison yourself and roam the streets without them?” he scolded. A qunari’s weapons were extensions of their bodies, and to be without one warranted death- ‘Guard them or lose all honor’. But even this drunk Hawke could see this wasn’t about the blades.

“I wasn’t thinking.” She looked up with a questioning gaze.

“That is obvious.” Her eyes roamed the room as he loomed over her, and that was when she saw it. The glorious porcelain monster-sized teapot.

“Tea?!” She pointed to the teapot enthusiastically, “I asked the guard at the gate if I should’ve gotten tea and he just looked at me like I had sprouted another head.” His gaze flickered from her to the teapot and back, "Bu-"

“So I was told. You also said you expected cakes, Hawke. Do you see cakes?” Her eyes scanned the room before she shook her head. “We do not joke.”

“You do not smile.” She threw up her hand flimsily before he could respond, “Let me guess ‘It is not the way of the Qun’.” She beamed up to see a glare that could melt all the Tevinter slave statues into a puddle of unadulterated terror. But the drunken Hawke did not waver.

He pulled a chair from the tables and sat it in front of her, taking a seat. “You did not come here to insult the Qun. So tell me, Hawke, why do-“

“Wait- shhshhshh.” He looked at her- stunned to be so rudely interrupted, “You say that a lot.” She lowered her voice and tried to make herself as intimidating as possible, “So tell me, Hawke.” She moved her arm mockingly in a horizontal arc in front of her and burst into laughter.

He leaned forward and placed a single finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his, effectively silencing her, “Why do you choose to throw yourself to the wolves?” She looked at him puzzled, “In this state you are helpless. The filth of this… place- anyone could have ended your life on your stumble here. The one thing of worth in this cesspit gone- a foolish waste of life.”

She stared back at him, “Andraste's _ass,_ you’re beautiful.” He kept his hand steady but he turned his head away, disappointment and worry riddled his features.   _Smooth, Hawke, real smooth_. She reached out a wobbly hand and placed it on his jaw, rough skin in context with his chest. She slowly guided his face to look at her, like he'd done, only much more timidly, “Hey. You,” an even deeper crease appeared on his brow- clearly unaccustomed to being addressed as ‘you’, “I’m not dead am I?” She offered him a crooked smile. His thumb grazed her chin before he stood.

“You will remain here for the night.”

“You mean here? In the compound? In this tent? With you?” She felt a smile trying to deceive her disbelief and the faux inconvenience she was feeling.

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?” He turned and left, leaving her in the silence. She attempted to stand up until he stuck his head back into the tent. She pretended as if she had been innocently twiddling her thumbs, and had not seen him enter.

“You will touch nothing.” He left as quickly as he appeared. If Isabela could see her now. Sitting in the bed of the most impressive man in Kirkwall. And he has a set of horns. _Hmph._


	4. The Arishok's Smallclothes

She sat, still as an icicle, waiting, patiently obeying. But clearly he could not see her obedience lasting forever. She scoped her surroundings, looking for a backup plan should he reenter to find her rifling through his smallclothes trunk. “Ooh, I wonder what color they are.”  She rose, arms flailing to fight gravity, the little voice long gone now. Oh, how its fortune had changed.  “I wonder if they have little bows. Terrifying bows with little battle-axes in the middle.” She giggled to herself, “Oooh… what if he doesn’t wear smallclothes.”

Her first mistake was standing on top of the bed instead of sliding off the edge, that being said it was more than a slight inconvenience when the mattress under her gave way with every step. She huffed, knowing this adventure would be long and arduous. Her second mistake was the fact that she didn’t think the mattress would ever end, and with one misplaced foot, off the bed she went, face first into a partition which she so desperately tried to fight away as if the Maker himself had possessed the piece of canvas and was scolding her for her debauchery. She squealed as she fell and as she hit the ground she saw the tent open and a Qunari-size foot enter. _Oh, dear._

She removed the hand that she had attempted to silence the screech that had no doubt drawn him from her face and rolled onto her back, bending her knees and crossing her legs on the other side of the partition. The chair the Arishok had previously been sitting on spitefully tipped over and landed across her shin, sending a spark of pain from her leg to her back, who's squeal of pain she actually managed to muffle. She folded her hands across her stomach and looked suddenly interested in the support-pole at her shoulder, ignoring the single tear that came to her eye, "Ow." She lifted one hand and extended a finger to tap the pole and froze when she heard her name, “Serah Hawke.” She hiccupped in response, bringing her arm back to rest on her stomach.

“Hello, fine sir. Can you tell me where the Arishok has disappeared to?” She craned her neck causing everything in the tent to suddenly be upside down. _How could this Qunari walk on the ceiling?_

“I will if you can tell me what you are doing.” This was a once in a lifetime sight, he assumed.

“Oh you know. Just getting to know where everything is at, should um… bandits! Should bandits decide on a midnight raid.”

The qunari tilted his head, “Here in this tent? Inside of the compound?”

“You know how those hooligans are. How bold they can be. It’s terrifying, really.”

“By rolling on the ground?”

“I am distributing my scent. Like a cat. Me- _ow_. See? No bandits,” Her hands came off her stomach and gestured around the room, “Can be used to deter all sorts of miscreants. I have been told my scent is very fercosis- fursho- feroshus.” He looked at her with pure confusion, “Would you rather me distribute me scent as a dog and pee on everything?” He turned to leave and she hissed fearsomely at his impossibly muscled back. “Hey! Wait! You never told me where your kind and generous leader got off to. Sir? Ser Qunari?!”

Now that her scent had been distributed to her satisfaction, it was back to the task at hand. Which was… She paused and sat up, bracing her palms on the ground behind her back and uncrossing her legs. She rotated the lower half of her body under and away from the canvas that had been holding it captive and sat motionless for a few short moments to listen for heavy footsteps. When she heard none she slowly got to her feet and made her way to the tent opening to peek her head outside.

The compound had become a ghost town and the Arishok was nowhere to be found. She retreated into the warmth of the tent and turned around to see that glass of purple liquid. It was taunting her. She should drink it- to show it the pecking order in this tent. It was deep purple with barely noticeable swirls of obsidian. Hawke made her way to the wooden table in a nearly straight line and bent over so that she was eye-level with the glass. She straightened up a bit and took a half step forward in order to smell the contents- her foggy senses picked out raspberry, tea, cinnamon… and celery? Hawke straightened up and eyed the glass for a few more seconds before peeking out of the tent once more. Clear. “You can drink anything once.” And with that, Hawke picked up the glass swirled it around and discovered it was surprisingly viscous. She shrugged and took a sip. She sat the glass back down on the table and began sputtering wildly. “Maker's breath, why is it so spicy?” After a few moments of coming apart at the tongue she wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand, then wiped her hand on her pants, “Disgusting. Ugh.” She proceeded to shake her head like a wet dog, sneering at the beverage.

It was then that she heard the heavy strides of her favorite horned citizen. Oh no. She was not to move, the bed wasn’t an option- too far away and the partition would continue to sway long after her escape attempt. The table was littered with things that looked important and easily destroyable- so another no-go. The only thing left was the cushiony rug in the corner. What other choice did she have? She made it halfway to the rug's edge when she tripped on her bootlace and tumbled to a stop. After a few moments of grumbling and cursing under her breath, she belly-crawled her way to the rug and assorted the pillows to her blurry specification, and leaned back- holding her bruised… everything. The tent opened as she was ‘fixing’ her hair back to the way it was and she doubted her improvisation skills would help her here. _Oh, just drinking things that are probably deadly to every creature except you dear Arishok. Awaiting my impending death dear Arishok. Please don’t kill me I didn’t actually pee on anything Oh Mighty Arishok._


	5. Tea Time

The Arishok entered the tent holding a wonderful smelling cloth pouch and a light brown cup with a spoon-like utensil swirling around inside and clinking against the glass. Hawke kept her cool and sat reclined staring from the fire pit to the viscous purple substance on the table to the pillow she was subconsciously stroking in her lap before tossing it to the side and awaiting the Arishok’s attention. He turned to his left and paused when he heard giggling from behind him. Hawke desperately tried to silence herself by throwing a pillow on top of her face. This certain one smelled like cinnamon and leather.

He continued to the round table, moving aside the paper and books and gulping down the last of the purple drink, which made Hawke gag and caused her throat to suddenly dry out. He placed the cup, spoon and pouch on the table and turned to open the bedroom partition. Hawke remained motionless and as silent as possible as he disappeared, reappearing moments later with the monster tea pot in hand, and that, too, he sat on the table and headed towards the fire pit. Hawke’s pillow-concealment plan had failed unbeknownst to her as the tasseled, silk covered, down-filled mask she was using was now situated in her lap.

The Arishok took the book from the table, memorized the page, shut it and headed towards the bookshelf. “Serah Hawke.” He looked down at her and she froze, suddenly aware of everything and nothing.

She inhaled sharply, “Arishok…” She watched him move past her to the bookshelf a few feet away, “So, you’re making tea?”

“For you.”

“Aw. How kind. Special occasion?”

“It is medicinal tea for sleep. So yes; ‘The Day Hawke Stopped Asking Inane Questions to the Arishok’.”

“Oh! You do joke! You little devil you.” A smirk desperately tugged at one corner of his mouth.

“Why have you moved?” Hawke froze, running through numerous excuses. One about bandits, another about getting to know the Arishok and another about underclothes… but none of those came out of her mouth. He retrieved the chair from its reclined position on the floor and sat it in front of Hawke. She waited until he took a seat.

“Do you have a large cock, Ser Arishok?” Subject change! She looked up at him expectantly with an evil smirk, "You walk around with such cool confidence- the thought is quite entertaining. And my friedn Isabel, she-" He growled and adjusted himself in the seat, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees. Hawke straightened her arms behind her using her palms for stability and waited for an answer. Patiently. “You’re going to be evasive.”

The Arishok steeled himself, plastering on the mother of all poker faces, “There are no animals in the compound.” _He would never meet a stranger human. A more unique human._

“Ooh. Because that’s not evasive.” He sighed and stood, holding out a hand for Hawke.

“Stand.” Hawke obliged and took his hand, more so he took her hand as she was crippled with no depth perception, and was ushered into taking his seat, which was then scooted under the table. He took a candle from the table and lit what little kindling was left in the fire pit, replacing the grate afterwards.

“Arishok?” He remained silent, “Some people call your kind ‘oxmen’.”

“I am aware. Ignorant and racist vashedan.”

“I don’t think they’d actually strap a yolk to you and have you assist them. I don’t think they actually could… they’d just be- It’s nigh impossible is my point… I'm quite sure. I think it’s because you have horns. But you know what else I think?” expected silence, “I think they're just jealous.” A noncommittal ‘I’m totally not interested’ noise emerged as he stepped out to fill the teapot with water. “I find them quite charming,” she met his gaze with a sharp but kind smile and brought only her eyes to her wriggling toes, “and attractive.” The teapot hit the grate with a clatter and the Arishok withdrew his burnt finger with a hiss. Hawke covered her mouth with both hands and haphazardly made her way to take the Arishok’s wrist.

When he tried to pull away her grip became firmer. She practically turned the warlord’s spine to jelly with her famous puppy-dog eyes and he froze. “Shh, you big clumsy...” Of course Hawke did the motherly thing and kissed it to make it better, but she didn’t hear the Arishok’s breath catch. “Would you like to hear a story Arishok?”

The truth is, at this point, she could talk his jeweled ear off. Slurred speech or no.

He grunted and she took that at liberty. “My mother used to tell me stories if I’d hurt myself or had a fever dream.” She slid her hand from his wrist to his palm and curled her fingers around his, and to her surprise he squeezed before she let him go. When his guard was down and he was paying her no attention, she wrapped both arms around him. After pulling his arms from his sides and out of her vise, he returned the gesture hesitantly, by smoothing the hair on the back of her head and shoulders.

“Hawke.” He looked down with obvious bewilderment. She let him go and looked at him through her lashes before continuing.

“It is called The Beauty and the Beast. My mother called it ‘a tale as old as time’.” She flailed her arms about in an over-the-top display of how elegant this story was. “But my mother also tells me that a ninny red-head from Orlais, who wears a lace collar and blue satin gloves and owns a nippy little white fluffball ‘dog’, is worth my time in a dinner date. Which implies that she thinks I bed him at my earliest covenience and create fiery-headed dragon-slaying children who, in reality, will be able to do nothing but arithmetic and balance books on their head while walking in a straight line and tell a salad fork from an entrée fork and fawn over that pup all the while Lotus is outside in the rain killing actual bandits. Just because he’s a mabari,” her voice became snooty, “a good-for-nothing _war hound…_ It makes me want to rip my hair out. That would make me a Fereldan 'dog lord' into a  _housewife_ \- _me a housewife!_ I barely know how to make a stew,” her hands fell into a ‘proper’ form as her posture straightened mockingly, she distorted her voice, “’Marry the most pompous one, daughter’ Riches and notoriety as well as political foot-holds.” her hands fell back to her sides as she slouched, “I say it's all horse-hockey and to the _void_ wi-“

“Kadan*.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped himself from continuing.

“Who's Kadan?” The teapot rattled and sang and the Arishok considered squeezing her shoulder before turning to silence it… but didn’t.

Not until Hawke placed her hand atop his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter became all romance-y. Apologies. Unless you guys like it, in that case I totally was going for romantic. :)  
> Next chapter story-time... and maybe some horn fondling.  
> *Kadan- "Where the heart lies." An all-purpose word for a "person one cares about" a.k.a. my favorite Qunlat word- a close tie with 'vashedan'...


	6. Horns, Glorious Horns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapters a bit longer, as you may have noticed. Enjoy ;)  
> There will be one more and maybe an epilogue of not-drunk Hawke.

“Ooh, I bet you give the best shoulder massages!” She spun around to meet a disappointed Arishok, “Has anyone ever told you tha-“ her brows furrowed and her glassy eyes pooled with concern before she smiled and poked his massive chest playfully, “Chin up!” he scoffed and returned to preparing the tea.

“The hour is late.” He removed the tea from the grate and placed it on top of a colorful cloth atop the table which Hawke hadn’t spotted before. Hawke nodded and hiccupped in response and slumped down onto the rug, adjusting the pillows around her.

“It’s not too late for a story…” She looked up at him to see that he was watching her intently, “is it?” He said nothing and returned to the tea. She huffed and crossed her arms over her belly, letting her eyes roam the room.

“I did not decline.” He spoke with an uninterested ‘just get it over with tone’- poker face included.

“Yay! Okay, from the top, then,” she was beaming, “Once upon a time- all fairy tales start like that, it’s rather charming- anyway, an enchantress, disguised as an old beggar, offered a handsome young prince a single, perfectly impecccable rose for a sheltered night in his castle, out of the rain, but the prince turned her away. She saw his arrogance and transformed him into a hideous beast- I think she was overreacting, I mean she turned his servants into dishes and wardrobes for the Maker’s sake,” she hiccupped and pulled a pillow into her lap, resting her hands on top and fooling with the tasseled edges, “She also turned his magnificent castle into an impressive fortress even you would think twice about… conquering.” She got his attention with that and smiled when he gave a noncommittal grunt at her noticing his response, “But after all that, she ended up giving him a magical reflecting-glass that gave him the ability to see faraway things in the palm of his too-smooth hand. She gave him the perfect, red rose, too,” she threw a finger into the air, “but there is always a catch- the rose would bloom until he was twenty one, and unless he learned to love in that time he would be a beast forever.” The Arishok had finished grinding the contents of the pouch and swept them into the cup. He rose to remove a bundle of herbs from a garland, proceeding to crush that as well.

“Continue.”

“You like it?”

“Continue.”

“Hmph. A few years later a beautiful young lady named Belle found herself living in a very… Fereldan-like village with her father who was an inventor by the name of Morris… or Maurice,” she brought a finger to her bottom lip in a pensive pose “…Yep Maurice. Anyways, sweet Belle was a bookworm and an adventurer who always wanted something other than a dirty, dank old village-“

“Selfish.”

“Excuse you.” She uttered, stunned and offended.

“For what am I being excused?” He swept the newly-formed powder into the cup with the pouch’s freshly crushed herbs and wore a smug look.

She threw her hands up and let them fall melodramatically into her lap, “You will not speak unless spoken to, Ser.” He began to retort, “You are my generous audience, which means this isn’t a conversation, good sir!” he scoffed and silenced, “Good boy.” She smiled, pleased with herself at commanding the most fearsome military leader in Thedas.

“Anyways, as I was saying- before you so rudely interrupted- I might add,” he ignored her, “In this village with her was the pinnacle of manliness- Gaston- arrogant ways included, and he is absolutely set on marrying Belle, for she was one-of-a-kind and absolutely gorgeous. Whether she wished the union or not- now _that_ is selfish. Belle was strong-minded and was totally uninterested- much to his distress, but every other ladies’ relief.” The Arishok poured the steaming water into the cup and waited a while before picking it up and taking a sip, “I thought that was for me.”

“It is,” he took another sip, “But it is also satisfying to the tongue.” He walked to the rug and handed it to her before taking a seat next to her and reclining against the wall of pillows Hawke had created against the tent canvas. Hawke scooted closer to him and they sat shoulder-to-massive bicep as she continued.

“Oh, okay. But you’re not going to sleep before I’m done with my story.” He gave a slight nod and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling and she continued, “Belle’s father was going to a fair to display his cutting-edge wood-chopping machine,” she looked up to him smiling, “Get it? ‘ _Cutting-edge’_?” She saw a ghost smirk and giggled, “On the way he gets lost in the woods and he and his poor horse… Phillip…Phillipe, are leapt upon by a pack of wolves, who end up chasing him to the Beast’s fortress’s front door. He leaves his majestic steed outside and enters, stumbling upon the Beast’s transformed servants: Ms. Potts, the teapot; her son, a cracked teacup by the name of Chip; Lumiere, a candelabra and Cogsworth, a clock- don’t you love this story, riddled with puns,” she sighed contently and took a large drink of her tea.

“Is this story much longer?” he spoke at the celing.

“A bit, yes.” She answered

“I would not drink your tea so quickly, were I you.” He said, still as stone.

“Ah. Fast-acting then,” she sat the tea atop the pillow in her lap, cradling the cup with her hands, “Eventually the Beast comes to investigate the commotion and finds the intruder, locking him away in the dungeon. Phillipe hears the shouting and peaks his giant head through the door to find his master being dragged away and rushed off to find Belle in order to deliver the dire news, animal hero style. The horse leads her back to the fortress where she begs and pleads on her hands and knees to take her poor elderly fathers place. The beast complies, just as smitten with Belle as every other man she’s encountered,” She hiccupped, and realized she wasn’t a fan of how this story ended. _Beauty and the Beast, not Beauty and the Beast magically Turned Into a Handsome Prince After Which They Live Happily Ever After Just as Every Other Fairy Tale._

“Hawke?”

“Sorry. Anyways…” her improvisation skills weren’t a sharp as they could be, “Little did the Beast know, Belle was just as smitten with him- teeth and claws and horns and all,” a devious smirk found her face- opportune moment, “I think she initially was awe-stricken with his glorious horns,” she coughed loudly causing him to look at her. He was met with eyes to rival any scruffy pup’s, “May I touch your horns?” he leaned his head back and, sighed staring back up at the ceiling. When Hawke didn’t continue he looked back to see her creased brow and slight, pitiful frown. He threw his dignity out the metaphorical window and bowed his head and was rewarded with a giddy squeal, “Really?” Silence. _How had he been put in this position?_

She sat her tea at the edge of the rug, miraculously without spilling a drop, and got onto her knees, running her hands along the base of one of the larger horns, parting the silky white hair. She ran her hands along the smooth surface, pausing momentarily to admire the golden bands, “They’re so _beautiful_. How do you go an entire day without looking at them and touching them and admiring them and-“

“You appreciate them so much?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“It seems as if you don’t at all, how do you get all this jewelry to stay put?” she spun one of the numerous ring around in its place before continuing her enamored inspection. She found that they were cool to the touch

“You are strange.”

“So I have been told. That's the third time today. Can you feel them- say I was to bite one- would you feel it?” She considered wrapping her mouth around one.

" _Do not_  bite my head." he said with a warning tone. She closed her mouth and retracted her head. She reached for the opposite largest horn and ran her fingers around the base, and to her surprise, a soothed grumble escaped the Arishok. _So_ that’s _how it is?_ “Parshaara*.” He managed to say.

“Hmm?” she said with an obvious satisfied smile in her voice.

“Enough.”

She paused and fell back to sit on her heels, “You’re no fun.” She continued running her finger along one of his earrings as he lifted his head. He met her over-joyous expression with a superiorly stern one of his own.

The story is called Beauty and the _Beast_ for a reason. She would keep it that way- very much disagreeing with the 'fairy-tale' ending at this point. She was a bit beautiful... and smitten with a Beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you came for the horns will you stay for Hawke's story?? ;) Although by now you can probably tell where it's headed.  
> *Parshaara- literally 'Enough'


	7. Hawke's Smallclothes

Hawke settled back into her spot onto the rug beside her very own Beast, gathering her tea and her down-filled lap-buddy before continuing, “As I was saying, the father runs back to the village in a panic. He tells everyone that a terrible and savage beast has taken his daughter in his place,” she paused letting the rusty improvisation skill gears turn, occupying the moment by sipping her tea. She cleared her throat, “Ser Gaston rushes to Belle’s father side, determined to have Belle fall head over heels for her dashing rescuer,” she noticed the Arishok stifle a yawn and elbowed him in the ribs, “Uh-uh sleepyhead.”

“I am surprised that you have not succumbed to the drink.”

“Already?” she tapped him on the shoulder after he nodded and he looked to her, “Are you tired?” he grunted and tilted his head back.

“Continue.”

“Hey,” she poked him harder when he ignored her, “ _Are you tired_?”

“ _Continue._ ”

“No.” he lowered his head and a staring contest commenced. He repeated himself once more and Hawke shook her head stubbornly, “You are sleepy. You will sleep.”

“And you will do what?”

“Plot… things. Bad things. Terrible, atro- atroshus, hellish things. Here on this rug. With Mr. Pillow," she lightly hugged the tasseled pillow in her lap, "You should have no part in them- it would be absolutely scand-da-lous for a man in your position,” he grunted, took a deep breath and stood. Hawke took another sip of her tea and he turned around and held out his hand, “But… I’m not done with it.” He took her tea and sat it on the table and held out his hand once more, “Ah. You could’ve just said ‘Get up’.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and he pulled her to her feet with a slight bend of his elbow.

She began to tilt once more- funny how the laws of gravity work when you’re drunk- but the Arishok placed a steady hand on her lower back and ribs, causing her to giggle, which in turn caused the Arishok to stare, “I’ll have you know that I’m _very_ ticklish...” He was watching her with a tilted head, “Stop looking at me like that. Hey, no. Stop that.” He jabbed her in the ribs once more causing a squeal and another stint of laughter. He wore a satisfied half smile as he handed her back her tea and headed towards the bedroom’s partition.

He waved his hand over his shoulder, motioning towards the bed, “Follow.” She froze and waited for him to notice she wasn’t following.

She pointed with a lazy finger towards the piece of canvas when he turned just his head, “To the bed?”

“Yes.”

“I have some particularly vital information, Arishok,” he turned completely around to face her and waited for her to continue. She finished off her tea with a belch and an oddly polite ‘Excuse me’, quickly tiptoeing towards him and motioning with a finger for him to lean down so she could whisper into his ear, still forced to stand on her tippy-toes “I sleep… in my smallclothes,” she took a small step back and waited for his response with a worried frown.

He paused a long moment, studying Hawke’s concerned features before continuing, “And I sleep with my eyes closed.” Hawke yawned.

“Me too,” she quirked her head and paused as he disappeared behind the canvas, “Oh. Good point,” she smiled.

“You needn’t be embarrassed, Serah Hawke. You’ve already made a fool of yourself.”

“Aw. You say the kindest things. Always condescending and such- it warms the heart.” She followed, struggling to find the edge of the partition. When the Arishok saw the human-versus-canvas conflict he took a few steps and held open the partition for her, she froze with both hands half-full of canvas, and slinked past him towards the bedroom. He followed her in and waited for her to get comfortable, but she just stood at the edge of the bed waiting, and eventually crossed her arms and managed enough coordination to tap her foot as well. He gave her a questioning stare, “Turn around,” he waited for an explanation, “I have to..." her eyes flickered to the ground then back to him. "disrobe.” He complied and they turned their backs to each other.

Hawke stepped out of her leggings, “You are watching me, ser.” She said with mild irritation, almost interrupted by a yawn.

“You claim to have eyes in the back of your skull?”

She froze and spun around with a small gasp, covering her breast-band covered chest with one arm and bringing one knee across the other in an attempt to replace her clothes with her appendages, “Do you?” she saw nothing but blank canvas and a bundle of herbs where the Arishok once stood tall.

“No.” She glanced down to see the Arishok was already reclined on the bed, lying on his back with his eyes closed.

“You…” she relaxed her posture and continued, “You’re so big… you shouldn’t be able to move so quietly.” She eyed him suspiciously before she turned back around and slid out of her stockings, hopping on one foot then the other, falling against the tent’s canvas more than once in a constant battle with gravity. She threw her stockings onto the heap of clothes and armor she had created and slid under the furs of the Arishok’s bed. “What kind of fur is this?” she asked running her hand across her fur covered belly.

“It does not matter. Sleep.”

“What if I’m allergic,” he remained silent, “Whatever it is, it’s very soft. And warm.” He sighed and Hawke silenced herself and looked over to him. Before scooting a bit closer and leaning her head back onto a perfectly plump pillow. A long moment of silence passed, only their breathing could be heard.

“Where are your scars?” he said, breaking his own rule.

“Hmm?” she asked wearily, “Wait! You _were_ looking at me! I should be offended.”

He ignored her, “You do not have enough scars for a warrior with your skill.”

“Are you comparing me to your people? Because I don’t go bare-chested into a fight. No offence.” He grunted, “I have this one scar on my leg where I was scratched by a little dragon.”

“You were touched by a high dragon?” he asked, not out of disbelief but curiosity.

“Well not a _dragon_ per se.” She continued timidly, clearly wanting him to drop the subject.

“A wyvernn then?” he asked, eyes remaining closed.

She paused a long moment, “A drake,” she said quickly, “but they still have claws and teeth and scales. And little wings.” She waited for a response but he stayed silent. She raised herself to rest on her elbows and looked down at his closed eyes “That’s still impressive right?” He remained silent for a moment before a noise left his throat, “I don’t speak ‘condescending grunt’, I hate to inform you.” He stayed quiet and she scoffed and fell back. “You frustrate me.” Quiet blanketed the room once more.

“I always wondered how you slept with those horns,” he exhaled loudly, “Do you always lay on your back? I imagine it would be more comfortable on your side, but-“ he turned onto his side and placed a finger on Hawke’s mouth.

“It does not matter. Sleep.”

She spoke-mumbled even as his finger remained on her lips, “So you get to speak but I don’t?” She bit at his finger and he moved his hand from her mouth to the bottom of her jaw, clamping her mouth shut. After a few minutes of mumbling and half-hearted struggling she gave up and stopped moving. He removed his hand and after some moments of silence, she spoke in a half panic, “I didn’t finish my story.”

“Another day.”

She ignored him and spoke as quickly as she could, “Belle-refuses-to-be-‘rescued’-and-tells-her-father-she-is-happy-and-he-also-lives-happily-selling-his-wood-cutting-machine-knowing-that-his-daughter-is-happy,” she took a small breath, “ Beast-tells-the-enchantress-he-wants-to-remain-a-Beast-because-Belle-loved-him-for-who-he-is-not-what-he-is. Belle-and-the-Beast-get-married-and-live-happily-ever-after-and-Gaston-becomes-the-town-drunk-and-a-regular-at-the-town-brothel-and-dies-alone-with-three-chickens-and-4-cats-and-a-pet-halla-in-a-rickety-shed-by-a-river-downwind-from-a-filthy-little-stinky-pond.” She finished took another deep breath, “The end.”

“Hawke?”

“Yes?” she spoke timidly, waiting to be aggressively flung off the bed.

“What is your first name?” She fumbled a bit probing her brain before grunting in confusion and frustration, “How is it that you can recite a story from beginning to end, but cannot remember your own name?” She stuttered a bit before becoming silent.

“I've obviously had to much wine. An elf gave it to me, it probably had magical elf dust in it to enhance story telling or-" she yawned and lost her train of thought, "Goodnight, Arishok.” She spoke quietly as she scooted into his massive chest, “How do you get this to stay on?” she poked and traced the lines of red war paint and he gingerly grabbed her wrist, placing her hand back on her belly, and as he opened his mouth she lowered her voice and spoke with a mocking tone, “It does not matter. Sleep.”

“If I tell you now, you will not remember, Kadan.”

“Who _is_ ‘Kadan’?”

“You.”

“What? My first name isn’t- is it?”

“You misunderstand.” He placed a giant hand atop hers on her belly and once more all that could be heard was their breathing and a few of Hawke’s scattered yawns.

A few minutes later she patted the top of his hand with her free hand anxiously and waited for the glint of his eye, “Marian! That’s my first name. Ha!”

“Sleep, Hawke,” he said impatiently, “It is almost time to rise.” He closed his eyes and stilled once more.

“You thought you had me there didn’t you?” he ignored her, “Goodnight again, Arishok,” He gave her a grunt and she awarded herself a cocky and satisfied smile. “Did you like the story?”

 _Asit tal-eb*_ he thought _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end :) I can't say how much I appreciate the comments and kudos- all I can manage is a lame ol 'Thank you!!'. Hope it's enough. I also hope more than anything, that you enjoyed reading.  
> *Asit tal-eb: "The way things are meant to be." or "It is to be." Cute right? :)  
> There will be an epilogue in the form of one or two more chapters soon.


	8. The Retelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pretty long and not as... humorous as the others but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Again your Kudos mean so so much. Thank you, sincerely.

Hawke woke with an enormous throbbing in her skull and opened her eyes to her blurry surroundings, still halfway in Dreamland- it was a wonderful dream, although. It starred the Arishok of all people. She had told him a bedtime story. She smiled at the ridiculousness and began to stretch. “Kadan?” Hawke froze mid-stretch and her surroundings suddenly snapped into place when she heard the familiar voice. But what was he doing in her home- she looked around once more- okay, this very clearly was not her home. She located the source of the voice, he was on the opposite side of a piece of loose canvas- was she in a tent? _You’re still asleep, Hawke_ , she told herself, _pinch yourself_. She reached a hand across to her opposite shoulder and squeezed- a bit too rough, she derived, when she let loose a squeal. A very short moment later the partition swept back and a very concerned Arishok appeared. _So…_ not _a dream… Shit_.

Hawke suddenly realized how very exposed she was. Damn her for sleeping in her smallclothes. She frantically grabbed for the fur around her ankles and covered herself, drawing her knees to her chest and sitting up with an innocent smile. She immediately grimaced at the throbbing in her head which was reacting to the sudden movements. “Um,” she stuttered, completely speechless- what was she doing in a bed, in her smallclothes, in what she assumed was the Arishok’s bedchamber? She cursed under her breath at the pain and made sure she still had the bottom to her smallclothes on, “Arishok.” He nodded towards a pile of her armor and examined her with a creased brow. Hawke felt herself becoming suddenly warmer- she was blushing of course, nothing else- all people blush when they’re stared at. Right? _Could be worse_ , she thought, _she could be completely nude and tied to the tent’s support post_ , she shook her head and looked back to the Qunari. He noticed her rubbing her temple and squinting and turned, leaving her alone.

She glanced around the room before rising and slipping into her armor. When she stood, stars danced behind her eyes- she had obviously had a lot to drink, the places her imagination was running were becoming darker and more risqué. She lifted her arm to move the partition aside and winced when every muscle in her body protested- what happened last night? And what did the Arishok call her before- _Kadan_? She made her way to the tent’s opening and grunted when the bright daylight dilated her pupils and sent a shockwave of pain through her skull. She stumbled backwards and her bare heel caught on the edge of a rug, causing her to tumble backwards, sending another shockwave of pain through her entire body this time around. She moaned and rolled onto her back, rearranging the pillows around her and huffing as she let her head fall back onto one that sent a whoosh of cinnamon and leather to her dulled senses. She closed her eyes, bent her knees, crossed her legs, and waited. She soon picked up a pillow and placed it on her face, placing her hands on her belly, fingers interlaced.

“Serah Hawke,” she jumped and grimaced at the voice- it wasn’t the Arishok’s. She dared to remove the pillow from her face and saw an elf preparing tea over a large grate, his long blond-ish braided hair half falling over his shoulder.

She grumbled a few words that caught the elf’s attention, though he couldn’t understand any of them. She took a deep breath and spoke up, “Where’s the Arishok?”

“Not here.” The elf replied snidely, Hawke clenched her fists.

“Andraste’s tits,” she mumbled, “I’m not in the damn mood for a snarky elf. Where’s the Arishok?” The elf turned up his nose.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her directly, “I do not know, otherwise I would have told you, _Serah_ ,” he said, clearly offended, “I was told to prepare this drink for you and tell you to stay put.” He continued his preparation.

She reclined once more, “I’m sorry for that outburst. I- I have a horrendous headache,” she closed her eyes and placed a forearm over them to block out as much light a possible, “Do you know what I’m doing here?”

“Well,” the elf continued with a less offended tone- almost cheery, with just a slight undertone of malice, “Last night, the Arishok came into my tent a little pissed off and asked for soothing tea. While I was making the drink in came a Sten,” Hawke heard his smile at the rhyme in his voice, “who told the Arishok that you were rolling around on the floor of his tent, quote, spreading your scent to ward off bandits,” he barked out a laugh causing Hawke to noticeably flinch, “Sorry, deary, when the Arishok comes back tell him to empty the pouch into the cup and fill it up halfway with the hot water, a quarter honey and a pinch of that lavender,” he pointed to a bundle of herbs on the wall. He walked past Hawke and patted her knee, “Get well soon, Serah Hawke, Kirkwall needs its guardian back.”

Hawke exhaled quickly, “You’re Vid- um… vidda- wait, give me a moment, I know this-“ she threw her free hand up half-heartedly

“Viddathari, yes.” He said after a few amusing moments of watching Hawke struggle.

“You’re the medicine man, too?” Hawke removed her arm from her face in time to see him nod, “I never got your name.” she said.

He smiled and nodded, “It does not matter, venak hol,” he smirked and exited the tent with a basket in the crook of his elbow. That was an insult, Hawke assumed.

**

The tent’s flaps swished open just as the teapot began ringing and Hawke was glad for the Arishok’s swift actions in silencing it. “The elf said to fill the cup halfway with water and add some honey and something else I-“

“I know how to prepare the tea.” He interrupted her murmuring.

The wind blew the tent flaps open and Hawke cringed at the high sun, turning to her side away from what she was certain was the Maker’s spite, “What time is it?”

“Noon.” He stated coolly.

“I slept until _noon_? You didn’t wake me?” She sat up slowly, testing her hungover body’s limits.

“I tried. You struck me.” Hawke smiled despite herself but quickly wiped it away.

“My friends- they’re probably worried sick.”

“They were.” He said, stirring in the honey.

“What?” she asked, very confused.

“The white-haired elf, a short-mouth and a hound came to the compound to retrieve you,” Hawke began to speak, “You were resting. I sent them away.” He sprinkled the lavender into the cup

“’Sent them away’ is a little vague.” She retorted. _Lavender! That’s what it was,_ she recalled the medicine man’s words and smiled slightly.

“Do not concern yourself with them. Were they your ‘friends’ they would not have let you wander the streets poisoned and weaponless,” Hawke reached for her weapons on reflex, “You claimed to have ‘misplaced them’,” he said, a bit irritated and condescending, stirring the tea and taking a sip, frowning at his newly burnt tongue an uttering what Hawke would like to think was a curse-word.

He stepped around the table and handed Hawke the tea, “It’s for me?”

“You are in pain,” Hawke began to take a drink, “It is medicine. Teth a,” Hawke looked up and tilted her head, “It is hot.” He stepped beside her and retrieved a book from a wooden, book-stuffed shelf alongside the tent canvas, and took a seat at the table.

After a moment of drinking and silence Hawke’s migraine and nausea began to subside and she spoke once again, “So,” she sighed, “What uh… what exactly happened- what am I doing here?” She took another nervous sip of tea.

He turned to her, “You remember nothing?” She shook her head and he grunted, followed by a sigh. He stared at his books a few moments longer before replacing it on the shelf and motioning for Hawke to scoot over, taking a seat beside her and removing his shoulder pauldrons. Hawke cradled her tea between her thighs and helped him with a stubborn buckle on his shoulder blade. She thought she saw him smile, in turn, she gave him a warm smile and for some reason she wanted to melt as she sat his armor next to her leg, running her fingers along the polished red leather. “You told me a human story- a… ‘fairy tale’, “ she could hear the way he very clearly didn’t want to say ‘fairy’.

Hawke choked on her tea, “You mean like a bedtime story?” He looked to her a bit concerned before shaking his head.

“You called it ‘The Beauty and the Beast’.” He stated as he leaned his head back, his horns touching his upper back, “It was intriguing.” Hawke swallowed roughly and remained silent. She finished her tea and took a deep breath, trying not to stare at the golden ringed horns that reflected the light anytime the breeze blew the tent flaps ajar.

“Entertain me, oh mighty Arishok… how about we start with how I got here,” she looked up to him with an innocent smile and he looked at her from the corner of his eye and grunted a grunt of compliance.

**

The Arishok finished his story and glanced to a traumatized Hawke and an awkward silence fell upon the room, “At least I didn’t ask to touch your horns,” she said with a tone of forced gratitude in an attempt to ease the tension. The way the Arishok looked at her made her mouth dry out, her eyes water and made her wish the ground would just swallow her up or a high dragon would appear and devour her alive. She did, didn’t she? The warlord said nothing and leaned his head back as Hawke gathered a pillow into her lap while she carefully chose her words.

“I have a question,” she said wearily.

“Surprising,” Hawke smiled at his strained and forced sarcasm. _Maker, he has_ no _sense of humor, though it’s the effort that’s important,_ she concluded in her head.

“Why didn’t you just send me away,” she could’ve sworn the Arishok tensed a bit, “you could’ve have two of your men sling me over their shoulder and drag me home.” Hawke placed the pillow on a pile beside her and drew her knees to her chest, wriggling her toes.

“You are stubborn. I have no doubt you would have returned.” Hawke hmph-ed and thought a minute before scooting a bit closer to the Arishok, to her surprise he did not get up.

“Then why did you give me tea and sit through a drunken retelling of a human bedtime story.” The Arishok lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it promptly.

“Tell me again how the story ends Serah Hawke.” It occurred to him that it was a drunken retelling, that it could’ve come from her then-tainted imagination, and for some reason it angered him a bit.

“The Beauty and the Beast lived happily ever after, ” she paused considering her word-choice.  _Tread carefully_ , she thought, “The way I told you it ended.” He was half-glaring at her now, what had brought _this_ on… _Maker, he’s attractive_ … Hawke blinked a few times and slightly shook the liaison- filled thoughts from her head. The Arishok grunted, and his sudden anger seemed quelled, Hawke began to think she may have twisted her mother’s words. Hawke smiled to herself as the Arishok was preparing to get up.

“Wait,” she placed a hand on his massive bicep and leaned her head against his arm, causing him to freeze and stop mid-breath, “Thank you Arishok.” The Arishok hesitantly and regretfully pulled away from her touch and stood. Hawke slumped back and exhaled and he noticed a fleck of his red war-paint remained on her cheek. He held out a hand for her to stand and Hawke took it, stumbling into him while trying to avoid his armor on the floor. He steadied her and wiped the red off of her cheek, causing a deeper, warmer red to replace it under her skin. Hawke spread her fingers across his paint-streaked chest and the tent’s flaps opened- in Hawke’s mind- a bit intrusively.

“Arishok,” a voice called from the tent’s opening. Hawke bit her lip and stepped away, only to have a giant hand placed on her lower back. The blonde elf from earlier froze and Hawke did her damnedest to bite back her giggle, of course failing, but it’s the effort that counts. Hawke bit her tongue as the hand on her back formed a warning motion, claws running against her armor, causing goosebumps to trail up her arm. It was suddenly so much hotter in the tent. The Arishok cleared his throat and the elf continued in a different language, as the warlord’s hand relaxed.

The elf paused in his speech and looked to Hawke who resembled a human-shaped cherry who was having difficulty breathing, then back to the Arishok and continued with a mystery tone in his voice. The Arishok furrowed his massive brow and looked to Hawke who was barely managing staying upright on wobbly knees and took a step back to observe her entirety. Hawke gathered herself when she felt the Arishok’s presence waver and the elf’s come closer, “You seem to be having a come-apart, dear. He’s right there.” He stated matter-of-factly with a tone of somehow-warm spite. Hawke thought it to be impossible but she could feel herself become even warmer and felt the sudden want to not exist- she was _embarrassed_? He spoke to the Arishok in the foreign tongue and he stepped back to his place near Hawke.

“What did he say?”

“You appear feverish.” He said after the elf was long-gone.

“He said that?”

“No. He said the white-haired elf had returned with your weapons.” He placed a hand on both her shoulders and placed himself in front of her, eyeing her with worry. Hawke was becoming weary of his concern.

“I’m fine.” She assured with a shaky voice.

“Do you wish to leave?”

Hawke spoke before her good-sense had the opportunity to stop her, “No,” she resisted the urge to cover her mouth but instead let it form a smile when she saw the Arishok’s expression- one of well-hidden joy and curiousness- and continued. And everyone said Qunari were un-emotional, pfft, “But Kirkwall can’t protect herself now can she?” she said half-heartedly.

“This city is not worthy of your guard,” he let his hands fall to his sides, “You are simply herding dathrasi,” His posture drooped slightly, “Go then, Kadan.”

“Kadan. Kadan- what does that mean?” she asked as he walked past her towards his armor.

“You might ask the elf when you gather your weapons.” He gestured towards the tent opening.

“It’s your language then? Qun…lat? What does venok hol mean?” He turned to her with surprise.

“Why?”

“The tea-elf, I think he called me that.”

“Venak hol?” he said with more than a bit of disbelief- _why_? _Was it really that bad_?

She nodded and saw the Arishok’s expression flash to a more irritated than usual as he bent over to pick up his armor. “Would you like for me to help?”

“Your help is not needed,” he said coldly. Hawke exhaled with great grief and made her way quickly past the Qunari, but he grabbed her arm, effectively slinging her around full-circle and bringing back the dull throbbing in her skull with the whirlwind, “But wanted.” He stated emotionless, not entirely looking at her, instead looking unsure. Hawke restrained herself from releasing a giddy squeal and proceeded to assist the object of her newly misplaced affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this may or may not be leading to another fic I have planned- but don't hold your breath- I still have a lot planning to do. ;))  
> Venak hol: "wearying one". A mild insult. (explanation pending-= there is one, though)  
> Teth a: a call for attention, or a warning  
> Viddathari: a convert to the Qun  
> Dasrathi: a type of animal, used as a derogatory term against indulgent/selfish individuals, comparable to the pig.


	9. Epilogue

It had been a day and an afternoon since Hawke had awoken under the most feared man Kirkwall’s furs. A shame really- that she couldn’t remember the horn groping she supposedly took part in. Or the fairy tale. Or how she had gotten a giant purple bruise on her ribs, and another on her shin- those parts weren’t in the retelling. She’d had to go home that morning without one of her stockings- it being lost in her drunken meandering. And she had to sit through every painfully embarrassing detail in the Arishok’s booming voice over a cup of miracle hangover-be-gone tea.

Not that she regretted any of it.

***

Bodahn had received a message from Varric, who verbally relayed it to Hawke about a group-meeting at the Hangman. Hawke set off, having retrieved her axes from an extremely grumpy Fenris the afternoon after her mischievous tromp. She passed through Hightown, gathering looks as she went along. Not the good kind of looks either- the kind you get when you get your entire family exiled from a small village by showing your horse a questionable amount of affection. Yes, those looks.  By the time she descended the stairs that put her in view of the glorious tavern that was the Hanged Man, she heard her voice called from her right and turned to see Fenris leaning against a wall, surprisingly well hidden in the shadow of an abandoned merchant stall.

”Don’t go in there.” He stated before she made it halfway to him, which made Hawke pause midstride, which awarded Hawke more looks, which caused Fenris to pull her by the elbow into the shadows.

“Why not, if I may ask?” She hissed pulling her elbow from his gloved vise, and looked to see a very worried elf.

He answered simply, “Isabela.” He interrupted her snide remark, “She’s gained knowledge of your drunken romp,” Hawke shot him a hateful look and he gave her a rare half-smirk, he continued in a hushed tone, “And your night with the Arishok. From Varric, I believe.”

Hawke inhaled deeply and looked to him, “Oh, goody. Well,” she continued slowly, “best get it over with now. Or I'll spend the rest of my life avoiding her.” She was attempting to make her way down the stairs when Fenris pulled her back into the shadows, “ _What_?” she asked impatiently.

“You don’t understand. I came to know of it through her,” Hawke could feel a whimper from the voice in the back of her head, “She believes,” he paused and looked down quickly before meeting Hawke’s eyes once more, “You slept with the Arishok... and myself.”

He was staring into her soul now and she felt as if she was about to turn into a horde of butterflies , “No more puppy eyes please,” he gave her a ‘what the hell’ gaze- furrowed brow and all, “I don’t claim to remember what happened that night but I would not have left my girls,” she pointed to the axes over her shoulders, “at your house if I’d had sex with you Fenris,” she saw him flinch and smirked, “I wouldn’t have left your house at all.” How she loved to watch him squirm, “I’m a cuddler.” She said with a genuine, crooked grin.

“Is that why you spent the entire night at the compound, then?”

“Fenris!” she chided.

“So it is _not_ true, then, neither of us?” He sighed a mysterious sigh and Hawke couldn’t figure out if relief, doubt, or a ‘why not?’ was behind it, he looked up to her with a bit of aggravation, “What ‘puppy eyes’? There are no ‘ _puppy eyes_ ’. You've been spending to much time with the blood mage.” He said with disgust.

“You know,” she paused and watched him try and fail to find words. She waved her finger in a lazy circle half-pointing at his tattooed face, “The thing you do when-“ there was obviously something wrong, Hawke just couldn’t put her finger on it, “What’s the matter, Fenris? You-”

“Hawke!” _Oh goody_ , thought Hawke, _speak of the Sea Devil_. Isabela had the uncanny ability to appear if her name was spoken within a 12 mile radius of herself- any part of Lowtown, included. She looked away from Fenris for a moment to see Isabela’s tell-tale hip sway accompanied by a flimsy wave of her tan hand and a shrill giggle. She turned back to see an abandoned merchant stall.

“Fenris?” she scanned around frantically before spying a white scruff of hair and the hilt of a Sword of Mercy disappear behind a far-away corner- at least he was still within earshot. She cupped her hands around her mouth, “What a _pal!_ Thought you had my back… _broody_!” she chided with spite, and saw a gloved hand appear, wave and disappear.

“Would you happen to be insulting our lyrium-endowed _friend_?” Isabela spoke from behind, tapping Hawke on the shoulder.

“Isabela! What a surprise. But what if someone comes looking for you? You’ve abandoned your post at the ale counter.” Hawke turned around and plastered on an innocent smile fit for meeting the Maker, or a busty human brewery who’d just obtained the gossip of a lifetime.

Isabela ignored her with a frown which rather quickly turned upside down, “Speaking of being _endowed_ , you would not believe what I’ve just heard,” she said with another giggle. Hawke swallowed and Isabela took a place beside her, throwing her arm around Hawke’s shoulder and leading her into the Hanged Man. The confidence she’d held a few moments ago fled with Fenris, probably assisting with his brooding, and now, here she was with only the voice in her head playing ‘I told you so’ on loop.

They entered the Hanged Man, Isabela more or less leaning on Hawke, ‘guiding’ her up the stairs to Varric’s humble abode.  “This ‘thing’ you’ve heard, I take it that your rumor mill consists of all of Kirkwall?”

“You know me Hawke. I get around.” She answered with a smile, causing Hawke to smirk inwardly, _No doubt_. She led her to Varric’s too-big table and sat across from her, “Guess what it is that I’ve heard Hawke,” she finished off a mug of ale on the table and propped her feet up, crossing them at the ankle and grinning.

“Always a guessing game with you- the relic,” Hawke stopped, “ _Who’s the father_?” Isabela reached across the table like a wildcat and smacked Hawke on the cheek, “Deserved that.”

“Damn right,” Hawke let her mischievous smirk dissipate and leaned onto the table, motioning with a finger for her to come closer. Hawke brushed a piece of hair off Isabela’s shoulder, leaving a trail of tan goosebumps, and spoke in a sultry whisper, “I take it you’ve caught wind of my oh-so steamy threesome with our lovely Fenris and the delicious Arishok?” She heard Isabela choke and leaned back with a bark of laughter, holding her bruised rib. Isabela leaned back with a slight frown of betrayal and a huff and called for Varric, who appeared a few moments later.

“You’ve heard what I’ve heard right, Varric?” Isabela called, assuming her previous laid-back position.

”Nice to see you, too Rivaini,” he glanced between Hawke and the pirate, affording Hawke a nod, “What are you doing up here?” He asked, puzzled, but he had a small idea nagging at him.

“Can’t believe Bianca let us sneak up on you.” Hawke spoke, he glanced over his shoulder and his lips formed a grin but when he opened his mouth to speak, Isabela beat him to the chase.

“Varric?” He shook his head and took his place on his high-backed chair- his Throne, as Anders called it.

“Apparently I slept with Fenris and/or the Arishok _and_ I was told you may have something to do with it-“ she threw up her hand, “But first Bodahn said you sent for me, a big group-meeting or something,” she paused and gestured around the room, “Am I too early or too late?”

Varric looked at Hawke then smiled at Isabela, got up, and strolled casually down the stairs towards the bar, “That was me.” Isabela said proudly, raising a hand. Twice today she’d been abandoned and left to fend for herself against Isabela’s rumor mill. Twice. Perhaps the Arishok was onto something – poisoned, weaponless, and left face to face with a too-chatty ex-pirate.

“Isabela, I did not sleep with the Arishok- the most feared man in all of Thedas? A worthy and... tempting goal but  _no_.” Isabela ignored her.

“How big is it, Hawke- honestly? If those horns are any indication I have no idea how you’re able to walk-“

“You know, Isabela, I had a dream while under the Arishok’s furs. You were in it.” She spoke with yet another misleading tone.

“Ooh. Did it involve whipped cream, leather handcuffs? Did I ‘satisfy a demand of the Qun’? Your Qun is probably much more enjoyable.” She smiled seductively.

“None of those actually. A blade was involved though,” Isabela leaned forward, somehow even more interested now.

“Pain before pleasure then, my dear Hawke? You know, my room is right down the hall… I could get you acquainted with-“

“I stabbed you in the neck for your inane prattle.” Isabela froze, “I find it quite satisfying when dreams come true. Do you?” Hawke tilted her head and smiled triumphantly when Isabela frowned another frown, identical to her earlier display of distraught-ed-ness.

As Isabela straightened up, Varric ascended the stairs carrying three mugs full of the Hanged Man's famous piss-poor ale, “So, what did I miss, Rivaini?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you oh-so much for reading. Thank you thank you thank you. I'm thanking you too much aren't I?


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